A Thousand Years
by Zymm
Summary: A collection of Rogue One Alternate Universe one-shots, focusing on Cassian and Jyn.


The party was stunningly gorgeous.

Chandeliers sparkled and illuminated the elaborate ballroom, the rich smell of roses and peonies looming in the air. People milled about, sparkling glasses in their hands and long dresses skimming the floor as they socialized. It was all mostly political talk, without real emotion or care, every compliment delivered for a strategic reason.

Jyn hated these sorts of things, but it kept her in business.

She dreaded attending, but duty had called. It was quite a coincidence, too, a huge ball being thrown right in Moscow, not a few streets off of the Erso property. It was all very curiously perfect, set in place carefully. She knew it was for a reason.

The issue was that it was so obvious, whoever had orchestrated it knew she would catch on. They knew that she knew she was walking into this situation like a mouse into the jaws of a hungry feline.

She was an agent for her country, and that meant there was no way she wasn't going to take this risk. Deep down inside her, it ignited an excitement, and awful addiction to risk and thrill. She was drunk on it.

As she floated through the crowd, a glass of wine in her hand and a slight smile on her lips, she watched. She flirted with the crowd, charming the many business partners of her father; they were important men. Foolish, quick to succumb to lust and greed, but rich and undeniably intelligent.

Jyn would be a fool to think that her father's business was without its dirty political ties, but she didn't dwell on it. She wasn't a role model herself.

She stopped to hand her now empty glass to a waiter- because even she could mix business and pleasure- and grab another. While in the motions, she noted a man across the room from her, laughing heartily with one of her father's dearest partners.

Jyn didn't like this one- his went only by Krennic, and seemed to only wear pretentiously-spotless gloves. He always wore a dark smirk on his face, as if he held some sort of superior intelligence to everyone in the room. The man charming his way through the conversation, though, was a stranger to her.

He had tanned skin, tanner than any Moscow resident she knew. He was dashingly handsome, his jaw sharp and marred with stubble. When he laughed, he flashed a set of pearly teeth and dark eyes. Her interest was growing, that flame in her stomach crawling into her throat. An outsider.

He turned his head at that moment, meeting her eyes. He took no shame in looking her over once, meeting her eyes again in a lazy flirtation. Jyn wondered if it were for show.

But she had stayed too long. She had to keep moving, socializing, trudging through the party. So she bunched up the skirt of her slinky green gown, walking quickly through the crowds of people.

Jyn began to make her way up the set of lavish, curved marble stairs, her heels clicking quietly, hidden under the small orchestra playing below. There was the hum of conversation in the air, loud and distracting enough to cover her exit. But she knew she was being followed.

Jyn turned a corner right as her follower did, spinning on her heel and adopting a new persona.

"Are you following me, sir?" Jyn asked shyly, her lips curving into a flirtatious smirk. She was practically nose-to-nose (or, in this case, nose-to-chest) with the man, her own inviting eyes staring into his dark ones. His face showed a hint of worry, but it was soon masked with an emotion that mirrored her own, a nice disguise. He was even more handsome up close, sadly.

One of her hands had drifted up to his black tie, tugging on the rich fabric, teasing him. He grinned back,his eyes darkening.

"And if I was?" He asked, and Jyn was surprised to hear his voice; it was deep and held a hint of Mexican origin. It wasn't what she expected, especially from an agent. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she had lost her touch.

She swallowed down the doubt holding her back, still feeling confident in her decision.

"That would be a perfect coincidence." Jyn said, lifting herself up onto her edge of her heels, pressing her lips to his in a move of impatience and impulsiveness. He responded immediately, pushing her back into the wall behind them, if not a bit roughly. His hands travelled up her back, down the satin of her dress, tickling the skin at the nape of her neck.

Jyn lightly pushed him away, a bit proud of the disheveled look he had adopted, his hair unruly and his eyes dark and intrigued. She grinned, pushing past him with a light giggle. He seemed confused for a moment, until she motioned for him to follow.

Once they reached the guest room, she pushed him inside, claiming his lips once again as he shut the door behind them. When she broke it apart, she reached behind her back as if to unzip her dress, tossing him an inviting grin. He was too busy throwing off his suit jacket to notice that she did not unzip her dress, but rather grabbed one of the heels of her foot.

It made contact with the side of his face so fast that he barely had time to react; he knew there was blood, and it started to warm the side of his face. But the adrenaline had ignited both of them, and it was too engaging to focus on his battered face.

He kicked her feet out from under her in a quick, swooping motion, letting out a snarl as he did so. Jyn tried her best to dodge it, but the hard motion to her shins left her off balance, lunging for a chair.

He started after the chair, but she beat him to it, grabbing the back and swinging it at her attacker.

It shattered on his side, but made him stumble a few steps back. Jyn took the opportunity to lunge for the door, but he caught her before she had grasped the doorknob. He threw her on the ground, the air knocked out of her.

He sat on her waist,leaving her scrambling for leverage.

And, to her surprise, he grinned, shaking his head. He turned his head to the side to spit out a bit of blood, the amusement still on his face.

"They're right, you are a little fighter." He said, his accent now much more prominent. His grin was sharp, but she could clearly see the admiration in the look; she didn't think admiration would keep her from death, though.

"American?" Jyn asked, scowling at the man above her.

"Of course." He said with a toothy grin. "But I just want to talk to you."

"And murder me." Jyn admitted spitefully. She had a huge target on her back, heir to the Russian Erso fortune and a worker for the government herself. The damned Americans had some heroic dream of killing her, for some reason.

"No, I'm not CIA." He said, no longer grinning. She wasn't sure what to think of it; he was a perfect actor, and she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. But, it wasn't as if she had much say in this exchange, pinned to the floor.

"That doesn't mean you don't want me dead." Was all Jyn could muster, however pathetic it sounded.

"I don't. I don't believe dissenting opinions should be silenced like they do." He said, shrugging, as if he were admitting a foundation of his beliefs. "I don't work for them, but I do work for an agency."

"And what do I have to do with this?"

"You're not entirely bad, Jyn." He said.

She barked out a laugh; it was hilarious to her, this spy pinning her to the floor after she bruised him up, calling her a great human. What a joke.

But he was looking at her seriously, his eyes without a hint of humor. He loomed over her, his face above hers, and she was suddenly struck with the intimacy of the situation. She wasn't about to lie and say she hadn't had quite a few men over her- but none like this, looking deeper into her than she would allow.

"We know about your past missions, about the fact that you haven't killed unless you absolutely had to." He said, and she was mortified. That was a flaw of hers, a shameful secret she shared with no one. She would kill, if she had to; but the thought of killing a child, a woman, a father, an innocent? It made her stomach churn. It had only worsened since her first unprovoked kill, like a disease festering inside of her. If her agency- or worse, her father- caught wind, she would be outcasted as a weak, foolish women. God, she'd probably be married off, some submissive wife made to breed children.

"That's not a bad thing, Jyn." He said, and it was the first time he'd said her name, like a close friend. She didn't like it, even though her name sounded perfectly kind on his tongue.

"I would like you to get off me." She said stiffly.

To her surprise, he did; she could've snapped up and hit him again, could've tried to choke the air from his lungs. She hated that he trusted her not to. She was not tamed, not weak or without conviction.

"My name is Cassian." He said smoothly, reaching out a hand to her. Cassian stared her down, the amusement still hidden in his eyes, a trickle of blood slipping down the edges of his handsome face.

Jyn scowled.

She didn't shake his hand, but inside stared at it until he retracted the offer. He took it just in time, as if he would be surprised if she actually did take it.

It made her even angrier- he didn't know her.

"I'll be back in a few weeks, after you've had some time to think." Cassian said. "I'll find you."

Jyn eyed him curiously, still in an odd state of shock after the ordeal. She half expected him to slit her throat right then, the element of surprise on his side.

He surprised her in a different way, leaning down to press his lips to hers again, one hand reaching up to tangle in the back of her hair, another pressed into her hip. It was so quick, sudden, and odd that she didn't have time to react, other than a quick sputter on her part when he stepped back.

That amused grin was still on his face as he slipped out of the room, leaving her to stew in her own thoughts as she collected her shoes among the trashed room. Jyn could've followed him, and as an agent, she should've. She should've followed him, should've seduced or tortured the information out of him, and then eventually taken down the odd rebellious American agency.

She told herself that his agency would self-destruct on its own. It had too many morals, which were a burden in their work. It didn't even have the backing of the Americans, and it stood no chance next to her agency. Hell, they'd be lucky to war with Luxemburg's intelligence group at this point.

But she knew that wasn't the reason she didn't follow. No, he had planted a foolish, silly seed of thought into her head, and she knew that it would grow and sicken her. It came with the illusion of hope, and she was already smitten.

It was all his fault.


End file.
